


Looking Back

by justhuman



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Post Season 3, Post Season 6, Wes Slash Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-01
Updated: 2004-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhuman/pseuds/justhuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How the Rogue Demon Hunter left Sunnydale one summer and roared into LA that fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zortified (james)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/gifts).



"How do I know that you are the person to whom I am entrusted to convey this material to?"

"Because I just told you I was?" Anya rolled her eyes as the English guy stiffened his spine like there was a pine spar lodged in places best not discussed. Past experience had taught her about such things, having lodged large pieces of wood in places best not described, so it wasn't a wild exaggeration. What bothered her more was that she really didn't have the urge to do that sort of thing anymore.

"Madam, I really must insist that you identify yourself in some way. " The odious little twit leaned forward hitting her full in the face with waves of breath mints, as he faux whispered, "Such as a _codeword_."

Codeword. There was a codeword? For Christ's sake, if there was a codeword than Giles should have told her. Wait... What did he say? If that idiot gives you any problems tell him... Oh crap, it had all sounded like useless gibberish, not like a _codeword_. "How many people do you think were going to walk into LaX and ask for Rupert Giles stamped pass-"

I'd restructure this a bit. "Hey," Anya said, raising her voice as he grabbed her arm and pulled her off to the side. "Watch it, buster!"

More of the faux whisper. "Really, miss, I must insist on discretion and the codeword." He sniffed loudly, lifting the small black-framed smarter-than-you glasses about an inch closer to his over-gelled hair.

"I don't-"

"Albatross." Both Anya and her twit looked to the right and there was a man in jeans and a brown leather coat. Days worth of stubble on his jaw that went really well with his piercing blue eyes.

"No, albatross isn't the proper-"

"I'm not interested in the documents this woman is after. I just gave you the codeword for your _other_ package." The stranger was looking down his nose at Anya's twit, confirming her impression of the courier guy.

Stepping between the two men, Anya gave her best vengeance glare to the rocket scientist holding her documents. "I have lived over a millennium, was worshiped in all corners of the globe for my ability to turn men inside out. Have you seen your liver today?"

The courier was looking back and forth between the two of them, clutching his carry-on bag close to his chest. "Neither of you are whom I expected. I think it would be prudent for me to board the next flight back to England and wait further instruct-"

From out of nowhere two black clad ninja types the courier lifting him off his feet and headed for a side door. Anya was lifted off her feet a moved a short distance to her right by the scruffy man who blew a fine powder into a third ninja's face, stopping him in mid-motion, or, more importantly, stopping the scimitar aimed where her head was a moment ago.

Her scruffy _hero_ was talking into a tiny microphone. "Two of them, with the courier, heading down the western stairs. I'll join you in a moment."

Without a further word or glance, the stranger was across the terminal aisle, making his way down the emergency stairs that the ninja had dragged the courier. By this time, the ever-alert airport security was heading her way. Deciding that teleporting was the better part of valor, Anya made herself absent from the scene.

***

"You didn't follow them." Giles regretted the words immediately after he had said them.

"Giles!"

"Anya. Anya, I'm sorry. Truly, I had no idea that I was sending you into so much potential danger and you did right by not attempting to follow them. I'm very glad that you are all right." Rising stiffly from the chair, Giles made his way to the debris strewn counter of the Magic Box and began sorting through the papers.

"Giles! Willow nearly tore you in half. You need time to heal. It's probably a good thing that I didn't get your passport last night. You're stuck here, so please just take it easy."

Responsibilities. Willow was his responsibility and he should have accompanied her to Devon, when she left on the plane a month ago. The coven of course could not teleport him back; it was one thing to throw a rock across the Atlantic, but it was quite another thing to stretch and pick it up again. At the time it had been necessary and seemed relatively simple to correct by having the Council assist in bringing Giles his passport -- a month later, perhaps not so simple.

"Anya, I'm fine. Really I am. I just want to call the Council and see it they've heard from the courier."

She made that dismissive noise that always set his nerves on edge. "I'm sure they heard him. He was squealing like a stuck pig."

"Never the less..." Giles picked up the cell phone wondering if it had enough charge in it. Having his business half destroyed and falling around his ears was not in the least bit soothing.

"Actually, he was more petrified into silence." The voice was rough, raspy, and distinctly not Anya's.

"Scruffy looking stranger." Anya was on her feet, pointing at the intruder and backing towards Giles.

Putting down the cell phone, Giles stepped around the counter to get a better look at the _scruffy stranger_. Anya was right about the description, but Giles had to wonder how she missed the long gash at his throat or the fact that she had actually met him before.

"Wesley." And Giles was at a loss. The two hadn't seen each other since they had parted company two years earlier. There had been phone conversations but they were little more than professional exchanges of information. Wesley was...older, harder, and it would have been impossible for Giles to dispute Anya's earlier assessment that the scruffy stranger was indeed sexy.

Rubbing a hand across his wounded throat, Wesley stepped down into the ruins of the shop, more or less disregarding the disaster around him, like it were something he saw every day. "It has been a while."

They were sharing something--a look was too simplistic a concept because the two of them were Watchers and knew how to see beyond the surface. One didn't learn things by simply looking. What Giles was learning was that Wesley had finally grown up, and perhaps that necessary step had come too hard and too fast.

"It's good to see you." Extending his hand, Giles stepped forward so that he could take Wesley's outstretched hand. It was calloused, not harshly, but enough to say that this was not a man that spent all of his time in books.

"And you." There was something close to a smile on the other man's face, but it was tainted by a wariness and sadness that Giles felt he knew all too well. "If I'm not mistaken, that's Anyanka behind you. I'm terribly sorry that I didn't recognize you the other night."

Wesley was looking past Giles, politely addressing the room's other occupant while Giles found himself staring at the wounded throat -- clean, a deliberate knife would. Giles was surprised by his own reluctance to break contact, but he finally forced himself to release Wesley's hand.

"Wesley? I remember a Wesley. He was kind of weasely and sniffly like the courier last- for god's sake, Giles, what if your face froze that way?" Squaring her shoulders, Anya nodded at Wesley. "You've changed. And, apparently, not shaven."

Well, it was relatively polite for Anya. A quick glance at Wesley told him that no real offence had been taken. The stubble reminded Giles of the trip to Mexico, right after the defeat of the mayor. He had taken Wesley with him to pick up some scrolls. Along the way they had both gone for stretches without saving.

"I believe this is yours." Wesley had pulled from his pocket the familiar maroon square that was Giles' passport. "I was picking up some documents for a client last night and was unfortunately correct that there might be trouble. The courier made it out of the airport more or less intact. I'm afraid I couldn't find you last night, Anya, so I took it upon myself to come up here today." Turning back to Giles, Wesley cocked his head off to the side. "I must admit curiosity as to how you arrived back in America without it -- certainly not an impossible thing, but unusual none the less." Now Wesley was openly looking about the store, the fallen beams, dusty rubble, open books with no printing.

And was Wesley thinking about the fact that their passports had been stolen halfway to Chihuahua and that they had at one point contemplated sneaking back across the border? "Yes, I dare say it was." Giles found himself a bit reluctant about sharing; or rather the story would take so long to tell that he wasn't sure where to start. In either case, it would be Giles talking and not hearing about what had happened to Wesley and where that still healing scar had come from.

"Someone maliciously shot Willow's lover--went insane, tried to destroy the world. She came close, but Giles came rushing in like the cavalry on a super-charged magical teleport." Anya's ability to recap had apparently been learned from Xander, Giles thought. And dear lord, she was beaming at him again. At first it had been flattering, but after a while it made Giles think of memory spells and inappropriate kisses -- kisses best forgotten. Of course, now he was thinking of other kisses that he thought he had forgotten.

Giles glanced in Wesley's direction, but the look on Wesley's face was thoughtful-- no, calculating, like a general weighing the odds in a battle. He had changed in more ways than appearance. "Well, the summary left out a good bit of detail and perhaps romanticized my role in the affair, but..."

 _But do tell us who slit your throat, Wesley?_ This fascination with the wound was definitely becoming inappropriate. It had been years now since Giles had let himself be fascinated by Wesley and breaking off that fascination had been for both there goods the first time.

"Most stories are more complicated than their summaries might allow," Wesley said.

Silence. Somewhat prolonged, always awkward and something that Anya could never abide.

"So what have you been up to Wesley, besides getting your throat slit?"

"Anya!" Hypocritically Giles scolded her, and waited patiently for the response. He had seen Wesley's hand make a false start like he might raise it to his throat, but then the man stopped, apparently in complete control.

"Another long story. The wound is simply among the more visible consequences. Let us say that I was careless and lost something valuable." Sighing, Wesley turned, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

This did absolutely nothing to relieve Giles' curiosity.

***  
Wesley was lost in a sea of white pages. They had spent the afternoon going through the books one by one, finding ordinary ones largely unharmed by Willow's magic spree that could be added to the very small pile of items with some value. The other books, which had been magically sucked dry, were in an awkward state of flux. They had been inherently magical, but not really a true source of power until Willow had changed their very nature to take what she wanted. Now they were polarized in awkward ways, some leaching minor bits of power from the world around them and others still bleeding from the wounds the witch inflicted.

Giles and Wesley had concentrated on neutralizing the books while Anya sorted the other items in the store -- at least until she teleported away in a rush that had made Giles frown deeply. After that they had worked in a companionable silence, which was nothing that they had learned to do in Sunnydale. It was on the trip to Mexico, bargaining rooms in towns without names, camping in canyons larger and deeper than the Grand Canyon.

It was amazing how one decision might change one's life...

*Two years earlier..."

Wesley continued to contemplate the seemingly lifeless hand that he was holding. Life as he knew it was over with no hope of return. What remained was only the question of could he do something here; however, he feared that he knew that answer as well.

"It's hard, Wesley, to watch them fall. If it's any comfort, I don't think it was your fault." Wesley's head snapped up and met the intent stare of Rupert Giles. Breeding prevented him from speaking out against the lies obviously being directed at him.

"Peace, Wesley. I am certainly aware that I have not given you any reason to believe that what I just said was true, but nonetheless, it is. Yes, I think there were better ways to have handled Faith than the one you chose, but I don't blame you for doing something. The Council certainly did nothing to equip you with alternative methods. And Faith..."

Wesley watched as Giles traced a finger along the edge of the hospital blanket, staring down at the silent girl. Taking the other visitor's chair on the other side of the bed, Giles continued. "Wesley, she made all those decisions herself, none of us could have stopped her."

Not feeling at all comfortable with the conviction in the other man's eyes, Wesley returned his eyes to the still hand and chewed his lower lip a moment. "I was her Watcher, it was my job to stop her. You knew, Angel knew, that it was wrong to push her. In my arrogance, I thought I knew better and chose a SWAT team over subtlety."

"There's no guarantee that we knew better. Angel may or may not have made any headway with her. She was running on the edge, terrified of the possibilities in front of her. We were grabbing at strings and even if we had been able to try our methods, there was no guarantee that we wouldn't have ultimately been forced to do something unpleasant."

Contemplating the blue blanket covering the bed, Wesley felt suddenly relieved that one of his decisions might have been half-right. "Thank you, Mr. Giles, I don't exactly know what to say. It means something to hear that from you when all else is...well, let us say not particularly stellar."

"Ah, yes." Giles cleared his throat. Wesley looked up as the other man began polishing his glasses. "I, ah..." Letting out a big sigh, he returned Wesley's glance. "Your father contacted me yesterday. Apparently, he was having difficulty with the hospital switchboard."

"Difficulty, as in he couldn't be bothered to talk with receptionists, nurses or his failure of a son."

"I don't believe those were the words he used," the attempt at diplomacy was lessened as Giles lowered his eyes to glance at Faith's strangely serene face.

"So, I assume he told you the Council's decision. Really, Giles, there is no need to attempt to spare my feelings. I've spent most of my life on the wrong side of my father's wrath. No colorfully embellished description you could give me would surpass the scenes already playing in my head. What did my father have to say?"

Giles nodded and tossed an express envelope across the bed, "He called to let me know that this was on the way and to demand that I deliver it."

"You and your slayer no longer work for the Council. Did that change his undoubtedly imperious attitude?" Wesley could hear the bitterness in his own voice.

"Wesley, I've met your father. The only thing he could do to surprise me would be to commit an act of kindness to anyone." Astonished by the note of anger in Giles voice, Wesley felt like he was being pinned in place by Giles' steady gaze. There was some kind of internal debate going on in the man's head.

"I'm told that envelope contains airfare home to England as the Council would not provide it. I've delivered it as instructed. There's undoubtedly a note inside repeating your father's specific instructions to you, which I assume can be summed up as 'get your arse back to England so that it can be kicked.' My advice to you would be not to do it."

"Yes, well I believe the only difference in the sentiment from the first day that I arrived here is that you'd have rather done the kicking than leave it to..." Wesley frowned in confusion. "Did you just say that I should ignore my father? That I should not 'get myself back to England'?"

"That's exactly what I said. Wesley, I've spent a good number of years making mistakes, poor decisions and all sorts of other blunders like every other human being on the planet. Since you read every other thing about Sunnydale before you arrived here, I suspect that you didn't stop short of reading the accounts of my misspent youth." Feeling the heat of an uncontrollable blush rise to his face, Wesley gently laid Faith's hand back on the blanket and studiously contemplated his shoes.

"Well, em...yes."

"It was reckless, deadly, in many ways unforgivable and undoubtedly the most enlightening thing that I have ever done in my life." Wesley looked up and saw Giles blush a little as he frowned at the ceiling tiles. "Well, not the part about a friend dying. The part about walking away from the world I was forced into." Looking more thoughtful, Giles continued, "Perhaps the most enlightening thing I've done lately has been to take the council of teenagers. They've reminded me that there is much more to life sometimes than books, prophecies and even saving the world."

"Mr. Giles, I understand that these experiences have shaped your perceptions, but I don't understand how they have bearing on my returning or not returning to England."

"My point, Wesley, is that I could have easily have been the stuffy, inflexible prat that you were when you got here."

Interrupting, Wesley pointed out, " 'Were' implies that you think something has changed."

"Your tone makes it sound like you believe that nothing has. The man who arrived in your suit wouldn't have stuck his neck out to ask the Council for a cure for Angel. He would have also followed orders and left town when disaster was imminent. So here it is, Wesley, you've tasted rebellion. I would like to think you found it more satisfying than cowering in the shadows. Now's where you get to make a choice. Go home and I guarantee that any resolve that you think you've gained will be eroded in a year. You'll find yourself buried in some dark corner of a library translating ancient texts like an uninspired clerk."

Standing up, Wesley paced the small confines of the hospital room. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Giles sitting with his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching him. Wesley did not find conducive to thinking straight. Rounding on Giles, he asked, "What the hell would I do if I stayed here? It's not like anyone wants me in this town."

Smiling at him, Giles simply stated, "You have an adventure."

"Pardon?" Wesley blinked owlishly at him.

"You go someplace where exciting things tend to happen and you try to do exciting things there. Or at least, you try to do things that you always thought would be exciting." Looking a little predatory, Giles propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "And I'm not talking about exciting things that it would be appropriate to write your grandmother about. I'm talking about the things you have daydreams about and know will never happen. The kind of things that you blush about because you're afraid that someone has listened in on your thoughts."

Enraptured, Wesley found he couldn't look away from Giles and that he did find himself blushing again. It was like fresh air had been pumped into the suffocating place where dismal thoughts had led him. "I...that...Damn!" Realistic thoughts about his father's fury and words like 'disownment' crept back into his head. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, but it's not like a police box is going to appear out of nowhere and whisk me off to worlds unknown. Besides, my father would kill me." Placing both hands on the top of his chair, Wesley looked forlornly at the orange plastic.

"Wesley, look at me." Reluctantly, Wesley met the older man's gaze. "I've met your father. You'd actually be lucky if he did kill you. The best you can hope for is that the properly bred young woman from another Watcher family, that you'll be married off to, is not a complete ice princess. There is also the vague hope that she might stand up to your father when he insists on actively participating in the rearing and education of the 3.4 grandchildren he forces you to produce in the hopes that one of them won't disappoint him." Giles had risen during his speech and walked around the bed backing Wesley into a wall.

"If you want that, go home. He'll be a little angrier, but his goals won't have changed if you go back home six months from now; you won't be any worse off. But," Wesley saw a twinkle in the green eyes in front of him that made him hold his breath in anticipation of something wonderful. "You might find something in six months that realigns your entire universe."

Suddenly, remembered the night of the prom a few weeks ago, and the two of them standing this close together so that they could speak above the music. That was when Wesley had noticed, well, Giles in a tuxedo. He acknowledged the hot flush of embarrassment rising to his face as he remember how his thoughts that night had made him drop all sorts of ridiculous hints about lower classmen got up in dresses. Now Wesley was faced with that intense look Giles mustered when he removed his glasses allowing one to peer into the endless green depths. Dear God, it was the same look he received when Giles told him that he had the maturity of blueberry scone. The look that made him feel like a complete idiot and at the same time, aroused. That was what made him redouble his efforts with the extremely hot Miss Chase. Was it any wonder that their kiss had ended the way it did?

Wesley was having one of those daydreams that he was sure would never happen. It involved Giles reaching out and touching him or maybe himself being brave enough to touch Giles. Oh, and he was very sure that Giles must be reading his mind now. Or perhaps, he was just waiting for Wesley to say anything about 'realigning his entire universe.' Wesley squeaked out, "How?"

A hand reached out and grabbed Wesley by the shoulder. "You're in luck. My first summer here was spent in a completely boring fashion, cross-referencing. Last summer was spent being completely frantic over my missing slayer. However, this year I am comforted by the fact that the world is safe, Buffy with the assistance of her sister, Dawn, will be bankrupting their father at Los Angeles area malls, and I am free to have an adventure. Your mission, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, should you choose to accept it, would to become my traveling companion."

"I...I mean...ah...that would be..." Overwhelmed with the idea of being in such close contact with Giles, Wesley panicked. "I'm broke. My stipends from the Council all went into the security deposit on my flat. But I could..." Wesley looked down hopefully at the express mail envelope in his hand.

"No." Giles took hold of the envelope and tried to take it. Wesley found his fingers compulsively clutching the only remotely secure thing he had left. "Wesley. Wes-ley." Giles prodded. Wesley found his chin being lifted by those same fingers that had been previously been clutching his shoulder. As he tried to remember how to breathe, Wesley affirmed in his head that having one's face touched was much more intimate than having one's shoulder touched through several layers of cloth. He also noted that there was much less personal space when Giles took a half step further into his.

"Wesley, your father has no place on an adventure. Let me hold onto the envelope. I'll give it back when we're done with our trip, if you want it back." Somehow Wesley's fingers loosened their hold on the envelope. The rational part of his brain hypothesized that it had to do with the muscles weakening due to lack of oxygen. That, of course, was caused by the fact that he could not breathe while he was fixated on the green eyes in front of him and the fingers on his chin were sending lightning bolts into his body. Wesley then decided that life was completely unfair as Giles broke contact, took a step back and tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket.

Wesley decided that disobeying his father was a small price to pay in order to be anywhere near the man in front of him, even if said man would never be interested in him. "Mr. Giles-"

"Don't make me start our adventure by kicking your arse. Call me just Giles, like the children do or Rupert if you like."

"Giles, er, Rupert, ah, Giles. Thank you." The stammered but impassioned gratitude earned Wesley a smile. Wesley resolved that he would do whatever it would take to continue to earn that smile.

"Make your goodbyes to Faith, and go settle with your landlord. You can bring your extra things to my flat and store them there while we're on our trip. I'll expect you at my flat first thing tomorrow morning."  
***

"No wonder I'm starving, it's nearly eight." Giles hand was lying gently upon the white pages of the book Wesley was holding, pushing it towards the table. "Let it go. This one will be here in the morning with all the rest."

For a moment, Wesley contemplated Giles' fingers, pressing lightly on the white pages. There had been a time when he had studied them, marveling at the delicacy with which they handled ancient tomes and the grace by which they handled swords and axes. Every impractical and romantic notion he had once had about those fingers had once been confirmed in the cool June nights in the canyons of Mexico. But now a part of Wesley wondered if that had been his own quixotic view of the world, long since dead, or if there was some truth to it.

Part of Wesley wanted to find out again, but he had long since learned lessons about overstaying his welcome. "Yes, I should be getting out of your way." Wesley put the book down and moved to stand, but that hand was now on his shoulder, letting him feel the weight and gravity of the man in front of him.

"No, you don't need to rush off. I can't even begin to tell you what a comfort it's been to have some help in this task." Somewhere in Mexico, after they had found the scrolls they had been looking for, Giles had used similar words to comfort Wesley. Up to that moment, they had been the kindest words that an authority figure had ever used to describe him.

They were studying each other's faces, weighing the needs and reactions. "I'm happy to help. It seems lately that so few want..." _my knowledge, my experience, my presence?_ "My help."

Giles looked a way first and reached for his coat lying across the counter. "Come on. I'm buying us dinner and the drinks. I think we can both use them." Shrugging on his coat, Giles turned back. "Unless of course you are in a rush to return to Los Angeles. I wouldn't want to disrupt your entire life for my misfortunes. If I wanted to be selfish, I would ask you to stay a few days to help me finish with the books."

Picking up his own coat, Wesley smiled. "I'd like to stay and help. Los Angeles, I find, doesn't have much to keep me nowadays." There was something measuring in the look that Giles afforded him, but Wesley was beyond being intimidated by such things. "Do you have a car? I'm afraid mine is in the shop and I rode my bike up here."

"Your bike? The same one that you won in that bar outside of Los Mochis?"

"Yes. I don't ride it as often as I would like, but I still have it. I might also add that saying I had _won_ it is a kindness on your part."

Wesley preceded Giles out the door and had to smile when an offended "Bollocks!" practically erupted from Giles.

"You beat that Kev-rot fair and square. Double nine to end the game; I saw it all."

"Yes, but the motorcycle would have never been on the line had someone not taught me the fine are of _hustling_." Wesley watched slow smile come to the other man's mouth as the door was locked.

" _No_ one should be allowed to throw a dart like you do and not learn how to haul in a mark. If, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce you are accusing me of contributing towards your delinquency then I must fervently deny the charges. I was only doing my civic duty." Giles straightened up and began leading them down the street, past the bike in question.

Jogging closer so that they were walking side by side, Wesley pulled his hands behind his back like a barrister. "Sir, perhaps you can wheedle your way around the jury on that charge, but when all the evidence is heard-"

"Rubbish--all lies and exaggerations."

"I believe, sir, that no one will find you quite as innocent as you do protest to be." Wesley briefly held a breath as Giles put a hand on his back directing him through a wooden door into what in Sunnydale passed as a pub. As they walked past the bar, Giles called for two ales and then led them to a table towards the back.

"The fish and chips are passable, but the steak and kidney pie is quite good. Now, lay on your charges."

Glancing up from his menu, Wesley felt a smile spread across his face, the first one in what felt like weeks. It pulled at his scar just a bit, but he didn't care. "Did you, sir, entice young Wesley Wyndam-Pryce into accompanying you not only across state lines but into a foreign country?"

Eyeing him shrewdly, Giles waited until the waitress had dropped their pints and he had a good long swallow. "I would remind you that we were already residing in a foreign country so arguments about locale would seem out of place. As for enticing, I simply offered to allow the _eager_ young gentlemen to accompany me on my research mission. He was unemployed, and I did society a favor by insuring that he was not another pair of idle hands."

"However, you did you in fact withhold delivery of the airline ticket from the young man's father that was to deliver him back to England."

"Withhold is such a strong word. I was simply taking care of it so as too prevent rash decision-making. Oh look, the waitress." Giles caught Wesley's eyes and they both burst into laughter.

***

For the first time in a month, Giles had actually relaxed and enjoyed his meal. Up until now, there had been a tension surrounding him, worry about Willow, recovering from the fight, a reluctance on his part to once again become comfortable in Sunnydale. He had even passed up Buffy's offer of space in her house; they all needed space in one form or another.

"Wesley, I can't tell you how pleased I am that you came up. It's quite a relief to spend some time with someone that doesn't expect you to be a father or a business partner."

"I..." Wesley looked down and Giles was reminded for a moment of how Wesley had once been, never sure of himself, afraid to say the wrong thing. "I didn't realize how oppressive Los Angeles had become until I was sitting in your shop a few hours ago.

They had spoken of many things over dinner, covens and mystical babies. Afraid that they might slide back into more painful territory, Giles gestured for the check.

"Here, let me." Wesley moved for his wallet and simply signed the check when it came.

"I have a tab. Besides, I wanted to thank you for helping with the shop."

Wesley smiled shaking his head. "Are you ever going to let me repay you for our trip to Mexico? You picked up the tab there as well. Although, I'm not sure it's possible for me to repay you for changing my life."

Giles found his breath coming a little faster for beneath the table, Wesley's foot was moving provocatively against his ankle. "You need never do that. Despite the various missteps I enjoyed it."

A flush rose to Wesley's face, but the emotion behind it was obviously not embarrassment. "Perhaps we could go somewhere and recall more of the details."

***

When they had stepped out of the restaurant, Giles had fully intended to walk them back to his hotel room and show Wesley all the good uses of a king sized bed, but on the way back they had passed the motorbike.

"Do you remember the nights in the Copper Canyon?" Giles paused, running his hand along the leather seat.

"Actually, I was remembering our unexpected stop in that village between Magdaleno de Kino and Hermosilla."

Giles frowned, thinking he knew what Wesley was referring to. "What was the name of that village again?"

"I'm not exactly sure it had a name. In my journals, I referred to it as the Sixth Time the Citroen Overheated." Wesley had moved to the other side of the bike, and his fingers kept meeting Giles as they both touched the leather.

Opening his mouth to defend the Citroen, Giles laughed. "I'm afraid that I didn't keep count."

"Fifteen by the time we parted."

"Yes." Giles gave Wesley a mock glare. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more detailed."

"Oh, it was the time that the large hose slipped off for the third time. The place where you became fed up with the sexual tension between us and tossed me against an adobe wall and kissed me breathless."

"It was the only way to get you to shut up about the Citroen." Giles felt that the warm night was growing warmer.

"Actually, not even your potent kisses could stop my complaining. As I remember right, I wasn't quiet until I was kneeling in the dust with your cock in my mouth." Wesley had leaned in, is breath hot against Giles' face.

"As I remember, you still weren't silent; you just stop speaking intelligible words." Giles leaned closer too. "I'm remembering the night outside of Los Mochis, right after you won this bike. You took me for a ride into the desert and for the first time it was me lying in the dirt for you."

Wesley backed up, looking surprised. "That's the night you're remembering? Me full of piss and vinegar, feeling like I could conquer the world?"

"I rather liked you like that -- not that I minded our night in the place where the Citroen overheated for the sixth time, or any of the places in between." Throwing a leg over the side of the bike, Giles slid back on the seat. "Would you like to take me for a ride into the hills, right now?"

Wesley looked around, and then gave Giles a quick hard kiss before throwing his leg over the side of the bike. Giles wrapped his arms around Wesley, pressing his body close as they drove out of Sunnydale.

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> Written for James in the WesSlash Ficathon, who wanted Giles, books, Sunnydale, Romance, post AtS S3
> 
> My many thanks to Violet who beta'd the "present" sections and told me when too much of the story was in my head and not actually written on the page. To Magpie, who 2.5 years ago gave me great beta advise on the flashback section. Meaning that about 2.5 years before this was first posted, I started writing my rogue demon hunter story -- what did happen over that summer after S3 Buffy so that Wesley rode in to LA on a Big Dog and wearing leather in S1 Angel. As the years went on, I tweaked, rewrote, added on, looked back -- you'll note the word Finish isn't in that list. Somewhere along the line, I figure there was 18,000 words invested in this fic - thank god they didn't all make it into the final draft!


End file.
